


is that a broom between your legs or are you just happy to see me?

by almostafantasia



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Quidditch, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 22:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6538555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostafantasia/pseuds/almostafantasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Hogwarts AU written for the herstoryforheda project on tumblr.</p><p>In which Lexa takes a bludger to the head during the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin Quidditch match and the series of events that follow force her to confront the crush she's had since her first year on her Quidditch rival Clarke Griffin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	is that a broom between your legs or are you just happy to see me?

**Author's Note:**

> Please go and check out herstoryforheda on tumblr, a project in which several writers are encouraging people to donate to the Trevor Project in exchange for writing fanfiction prompts. 
> 
> Also I apologise for the ridiculous title, it seemed like a fantastic idea when I was drunk the other day and then I couldn't shake it off when I was sober.

It all starts when the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin Quidditch match in Lexa’s sixth year descends from the usual house rivalry into a full-on brawl in the space of about thirty seconds.

Okay, so Lexa realises that might be a little bit of a lie, as it probably actually starts on September the first, five years and two months before what is to become an infamous game of Quidditch.

It starts when Lexa, eleven years old and sitting alone in a carriage on a steam engine bound to take her far away from her home to a school dedicated to teaching a discipline she hadn’t even realised existed until a few weeks prior, is interrupted in her solitude by the arrival of three other girls.

“…and I swear that if my mum hadn’t promised to buy him a new broom in Diagon Alley the next day, he probably would have hexed me to Azkaban and back in retaliation.”

Lexa catches the end of a story that one of the girls, a round faced brunette with a full set of bangs, is telling the other two as the compartment door slides open.

“Your brother is such an idiot,” one of the others interjects.

“He brings it upon himself,” agrees the first girl with a nod. “If he wasn’t so easy to wind up then…”

She stops in her tracks when she spots Lexa huddled in the corner of the carriage, causing one of the others to collide right into her back.

“Watch where you’re going, Octavia!” bickers the other girl, a blonde, before she too notices Lexa’s presence. “Oh sorry, I thought this compartment was empty.”

Lexa opens her mouth to say something but the sheer intimidation factor of the three girls, standing in formation with their arms folded across their chests like the album cover for one of the girl bands that Lexa used to be obsessed with a couple of years ago, causes a lump to form in her throat.

“It’s okay,” she manages to choke out.

“Can we sit here or are you waiting for friends?”

Lexa doesn’t have the heart to tell them that she doesn’t actually have any friends here yet, and merely gestures that it’s okay for them to sit down.

“Anyway,” continues the first girl, Octavia, as the three of them settle down into the seats beside the window. “I’m half hoping that I get put into Gryffindor with Bellamy just so that I can sneak into his dormitory when he’s at Quidditch practice and hide frogspawn in his pillow.”

The three girls snigger amongst themselves, until the blonde raises a finger and points at the compartment door, which slides open for the second time in as many minutes.

“Speak of the devil…”

“So this is where you’re all hiding out?”

The newcomer is a tall guy, probably several years Lexa’s senior, a mop of dark unruly hair on his head, his voice deep and a smirk etched upon his face.

“Go away Bellamy,” scowls Octavia. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“It’s my duty as prefect to check up on the firsties,” shrugs the boy – Bellamy. “That includes you.”

The girl who has remained silent thus far, the girl with darker skin and hair swept back into a ponytail, keeps a deadpan expression as she asks, “Wait, Bellamy, are you a _prefect_?”

It’s obviously some kind of in-joke between the three girls and Bellamy because they all giggle together and he rests one of his hands on his hip as he rolls his eyes at them.

“I really hope that none of you get sorted into Gryffindor so that some other poor prefect gets stuck with keeping you in line,” says Bellamy.

“I would rather get kissed by a Dementor than be in Gryffindor,” quips the blonde, and though Lexa has no idea what she just said, it seems to do the job of disgruntling Bellamy.

“Gryffindor doesn’t want you anyway,” Bellamy retorts slightly childishly. He turns to Lexa, then says, “I haven’t seen you before. First year?”

Lexa nods and Bellamy continues.

“What house to you think you’ll be sorted into?”

“I … I only found out this school exists a few weeks ago,” confesses Lexa.

Bellamy’s eyes widen momentarily in surprise, but he manages to collect himself quickly.

“Oh, you’re Muggleborn?”

Lexa nods, because _Muggle_ is pretty much the only word that she knows the meaning of out of this strange new world.

“That’s cool,” continues Bellamy. “Well there are four houses and these days they generally get on pretty well for the most part – except for on the Quidditch pitch, of course – so it doesn’t really matter too much where you end up being sorted.”

“Though if you end up in a different house to me, I might have to hate you a little bit,” interjects the blonde. Her blue eyes meet Lexa’s with an intensity such as that it feels as though she is staring right into Lexa’s soul. It is only momentary though, because she quickly turns to her friends and adds, “That goes for you two as well.”

Lexa decides in that moment, for some inexplicable reason, that she wants more than anything else to be placed in the same house as this blonde girl.

* * *

She doesn’t, obviously, because fate never seems to work in that way, and Clarke Griffin, as Lexa learns her name to be during the sorting ceremony, gets sent to the Slytherin house table whilst the hat – yes, a talking _hat_ – shouts out a booming “Ravenclaw!” for herself.

(Lexa wonders if there will ever be a time when things like talking hats and floating candles and walking through brick walls will ever seem normal to her, and though she doubts it, she tries to savour the feeling of incredulity, just in case.)

* * *

Anyway, fast forward five years and two months to the day of the fateful Quidditch match. Five years in which Lexa has gone from a shy and clueless eleven year old to a still quite shy yet rather proficient young witch. Magic is almost normal to Lexa now, but sometimes when she returns to Hogwarts after the holidays she’ll still get caught offguard by a moving staircase or she’ll forget that a door handle might shriek when she goes to turn it.

She’s good at magic though, which is definitely surprising, because she doesn’t really know how it’s possible for her to consistently get the second highest marks in her year (behind fellow Ravenclaw Raven Reyes, who somehow manages to pull incredible marks out of nowhere despite her penchant for “accidentally” blowing stuff up in the middle of class) when most of her classmates have been fully immersed in magic since birth.

But it is perhaps most important to note that the other big thing that has changed most since her first day at Hogwarts, is that whilst eleven year old Lexa just wanted to be sorted into the same house as Clarke Griffin, sixteen year old Lexa has a massive fucking crush on her.

Lexa hates to admit it, but her crush on Clarke Griffin is probably the main cause of the ruckus in the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin Quidditch match, because if she didn’t get momentarily distracted by the way that the sun shines off Clarke’s golden hair in a way that makes her look like an ethereal goddess, Lexa would most likely have noticed John Murphy hit a bludger in her direction more than half a second before it collides with the side of the head.

* * *

 

And then there is nothing until Lexa wakes up an indeterminable amount of time later, surrounded by the bright walls of the castle’s hospital wing and the clinical smell of cleanliness and medicinal potions.

“Ah, Miss Woods,” says the school matron, who hurries over to Lexa’s bed as soon as she notices that the girl is now awake, a goblet filled with some kind of purple potion held in her hands. “You took quite a beating. Here, drink this.”

Lexa sits up in her bed, wincing at the way that every part of her body seems to be aching in some way, and accepts the potion, before she drinks it quickly enough that the bitter aftertaste barely registers.

“What happened to me?” she croaks, returning the now empty goblet.

“A bludger to the head,” answers the matron. “It knocked you out and off your broom. Possible concussion, a broken wrist, and several fractured ribs. I mended the bones while you were asleep but I’d like to keep you in overnight just to be safe. You’ll need to keep taking a tonic for the pain and swelling for a few days though.”

Lexa nods, and then finally takes the opportunity to fully take in her surroundings. The hospital wing is far fuller than she’s ever seen it before. In fact, after a quick glance around, Lexa is pretty certain that she can see almost every player from both Quidditch teams, some in the beds that line each wall, some still clad in their bright blue or green robes as they loiter around theire injured teammates.

There’s a retching sound from the bed next to Lexa’s and she looks across to see the familiar profile of her captain, still dressed in her Quidditch underclothes, vomiting into a bucket on her lap.

“Anya?”

The seventh year lifts her head from the bucket in her lap and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand as she looks back across at Lexa. She looks awful, Lexa can’t deny that fact at all, her face pale and her eyes set back and surrounded by huge dark bags.

“Lexa, you’re awake.” Anya seems surprised to see Lexa conscious and sitting upright, though her voice is just a croak and barely conveys any emotion at all. “You look better than I feel. How is that even possible?”

“I don’t remember anything,” Lexa admits. “I think all the pain has been numbed right now. What happened to you?”

As if on cue, Anya leans over the bucket again and Lexa winces at the sound of the vomit hitting the bottom of the vessel. She waits patiently for Anya to finish retching, shooting the older girl a sympathetic look when she finally lifts her head again with tears streaming involuntarily from the corners of her eyes.

“Vomiting hex,” explains Anya. “There’s no cure. Just need to get it out of my system.”

Gesturing around to the busy hospital wing, Lexa asks, “What happened?”

“What didn’t happen?” scoffs Anya. “Well Murphy hit a bludger at you when you weren’t looking, which was out of line because you weren’t even doing anything. Then you fell off your broom, I had a go at him, and it all went from there. Raven used one of her infamous explosive hexes and took out three of the Slytherin team.”

Anya points over to the beds across the room from them where Clarke Griffin and two of the other members of the Slytherin team are being treated for burns by the matron.

“Wow,” Lexa says breathlessly. “And all because Murphy knocked me off my broom.”

“He’s such a Hippogriff turd,” spits Anya, glaring at Murphy out of the corner of her eye, and Lexa is pleased to note that he is sporting quite an impressive black eye, which Lexa is almost certain will have been given to him by Anya. “He could at least have had the decency to wait until you were looking.”

Lexa blushes slightly, remembering her last thoughts before she tumbled from her broomstick, and her eyes wander over to Clarke again, her blonde hair tinged with soot and a dark red gash across one of her cheeks.

Turning her attention back to Anya, Lexa dares to ask, “What was the final score?”

“Oh, the match has been postponed,” shrugs Anya nonchalantly. “It reached the point where the referee had awarded each team something like five penalties each but of course we had nobody to take them because all three of our Chasers were off the pitch and half the Gryffindor team was rushed here for minor burn treatment. The rematch is in two weeks’ time.”

Lexa’s mouth gapes open slightly as she realises just how much carnage a single bludger to her own head has managed to cause.

“But Quidditch _never_ gets postponed!”

“Second time in Hogwarts history,” Anya nods, then adds bitterly. “Oh, and we’ve had Hogsmeade privileges taken away from us for the rest of this year.”

“What?” gasps Lexa.

“I know,” Anya rolls her eyes. “But it was either that or a Quidditch ban and neither I nor the Slytherin captain fancied having to train an entirely new team in two weeks so we agreed to the Hogsmeade ban.”

Lexa nods in agreement, and then gets distracted by the bed directly opposite her own, where Clarke is now standing up, in a heated argument with the matron about her injuries.

“I don’t need you to take care of me, Mum!”

“Clarke, you’re my patient…”

“And I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself!” bickers Clarke. She snatches the little tub of salve from her mother – the matron – and starts applying it to her own wound. “See?”

Lexa chuckles lightly at the sight, and though the laugh is soft, it still somehow manages to catch Clarke’s attention. Her hand stills on her cheek, fingertips covered in the sticky paste, she leaves her mother to tend to the other victims of Raven’s hex and comes to stand at the foot of Lexa’s bed.

“How are you doing, Woods?”

Lexa swallows and finds her throat suddenly very dry. She’s known Clarke for five years now – it’s hard to share a dorm with somebody’s best friend without bumping into them every now and again – but it’s not like they’re exactly what you’d call friends. In those five years, Lexa can probably count the number of times they’ve actually spoken to each other personally on the fingers of her two hands. In fact, other than the time they were partners for a Herbology project for two weeks in third year, Lexa thinks that the most communication they’ve had with each other has been the incredibly one-sided (mostly from Clarke, of course) exchange of profanities in the corridors of the castle in the run up to big Quidditch games.

Lexa tries to remind herself that this is just an acquaintance talking to her, just a friend of a friend, a rival on the Quidditch pitch, not the girl that she's been mildly infatuated with for five years and obsessively crushing on for at least two.

As coolly as she can, she replies, “Well, considering I fell off my broom today, I could be doing a lot worse.”

She surprises herself, even more so when Clarke’s reaction is to laugh slightly as a smile crosses her lips.

“Sorry about Murphy,” Clarke says. “I know it’s not really any consolation, but I’ve always thought that he’s an asshole.”

Lexa nods in appreciation, because although it is definitely not Clarke’s apology to even give, they both know better than to expect John Murphy to show any remorse at all.

“And I’m sorry about Raven’s spell,” Lexa adds in response.

“Oh, don’t apologise for _that_ ,” Clarke dismisses her with a wave of the hand that has finished rubbing salve onto her burns. “I’ve known Raven since I was a kid. Do you think this is the first time she’s accidentally blown me up?”

They exchange a laugh between them, and then Clarke lets her hand drop to her side as she takes a couple of steps back towards the rest of her injured teammates.

“I’ll see you around, Woods.”

* * *

Lexa thinks of that conversation all week. She replays it over and over again, gets distracted in class wondering whether she should have said something different, or perhaps said more.

She has the same conversation in her head with Clarke so many times that week, each time slightly different to the time before, that when the weekend rolls around, the entire student body thrumming with excitement for a Hogsmeade visit that Lexa is forced to miss out on, she almost can’t remember the original conversation at all.

“I’m going to the library,” Anya says with a sigh, getting to her feet as a group of excited third years take up the vacant seats next to them at the Ravenclaw table, already clad in their heavy cloaks and thick blue scarves. “Maybe this Hogsmeade ban can do some actual good and help me pass my mock exams.”

Lexa swallows her mouthful of eggs and nods.

“I’ll probably join you in a bit,” she agrees. “See you later!”

Anya retreats with a wave, disappearing out of the Great Hall and leaving Lexa to the rest of her breakfast alone. But she barely has time to shovel one more forkful of food into her mouth before she has company again, the newcomer dropping into Anya’s newly vacated seat.

“Woods.”

Lexa’s head snaps up at the sound of her name and she startles slightly. Clarke Griffin is the last person she would have expected to find seated opposite her at the Ravenclaw table, dressed casually in a baggy sweater and a green and silver beanie with the Slytherin crest on the front, and she tries not to choke on her food in surprise.

“Griffin,” she acknowledges the other girl.

“Have you seen Raven this morning?” asks Clarke.

Lexa tries not to let herself feel too disappointed, but she can’t really control the nauseating sinking feeling in her stomach when she realises that Clarke isn’t here for her. Of _course_ Clarke isn’t here for her. They’re not even friends.

Nodding, Lexa replies, “She was still in bed when I left the dormitory. It’ll be a while before she’s awake, I think.”

With a roll of her eyes, Clarke nods and says, “Of course. How did I not guess that? Shame, I was hoping to hang out with her today. All my other friends are going to Hogsmeade and I don’t really feel like watching Murphy and Emori suck face in the Slytherin common room all day.”

Lexa makes a noise of disgust and raises her half-eaten slice of toast to her mouth for another bite.

Clarke’s eyes widen in sudden realisation, and then she asks, “Wait, _we_ could hang out today!”

Lexa almost chokes on her breakfast, barely managing to reach for her goblet of pumpkin juice to wash down her food before she can cough and accidentally spew chewed up bits of toast onto the table between herself and Clarke.

“Us?” she asks.

“Why not?” shrugs Clarke, as if it is the simplest idea in the world. “You’re not going to Hogsmeade either. We could, I don’t know, let me think…” Clarke pauses for just a second, her face contorted into a thoughtful frown, before an idea hits her and lights up her whole face. “We could play Quidditch! You know, practice shooting against each other ahead of the rematch next weekend?”

“Quidditch?” Lexa parrots back. She remembers back to her first ever journey to Hogwarts on September the first in her first year, recalling what Bellamy Blake had told her about the inter-house rivalry and how it only really applied to Quidditch matches these days, which turned out to be true. It’s not uncommon to see the houses mingling in the school corridors, or in the library, or even at mealtimes, but the rivalry rears its ugly head every time two houses face each other at sport. Lexa knows that all too well after last weekend. “But we’re on different sides.”

“And?” Clarke shrugs.

Lexa stalls, then remembers the pressing amount of work that she was planning to tackle today.

“I’d love to, but I was going to spend the day in the library.”

Lexa wants to curse herself the moment the words come out of her mouth, because she realises that it sounds like she really doesn’t want to hang out with Clarke at all today, which is the exact opposite of the truth. She wonders briefly why she isn’t jumping at the offer, when she has spent the last five years willing Clarke to pay attention to her, instead of fumbling for any excuse that she can.

“The library?” Clarke quirks an eyebrow at Lexa. “Seriously, Woods? Like I know that Ravenclaws are supposed to be the clever ones, but are you trying to fulfil all the nerdy stereotypes by spending your day off doing work?”

“I…” Lexa stammers, closing her eyes, because she’s only so far away from saying _fuck it_ and agreeing to a day on the Quidditch pitch with Clarke. But her conscience wins over, to her utter dismay. “I really need to get that Potions essay done today, I’m sorry.”

Disappointment flashes across Clarke’s face, and Lexa is once again close to changing her mind, before the disappointment quickly changes to panic.

“Potions essay?” Clarke asks blankly. “What Potions essay?”

 “You know, the one on the morality of love potions,” Lexa reminds her. When Clarke still shows no recognition, Lexa continues, “Three pages? Due Tuesday?”

“Oh crap! _That_ Potions essay!”

Clarke slams her forehead into the palm of her hand and lets out a long sigh.

“Do you maybe want to come to the library with me this morning and we can work on it together?” Lexa ventures tentatively. “And then after lunch we can go and play Quidditch together.”

Clarke looks up and then, without hesitation and with a smile on her face, says, “Sounds like a plan.”

If Lexa wasn’t in love with Clarke Griffin before, she most likely is now.

* * *

Lexa wonders if she should maybe think about sending John Murphy a thank you card. Because she is absolutely cartain that had he not hit a bludger at her head when she wasn’t looking and started the fight that got them all banned from Hogsmeade, Clarke Griffin would not be sitting opposite her in the library right now, chewing on the end of her quill in a way that has Lexa shamefully clenching her thighs together as she tries not to imagine what else her mouth might be good at.

“Have you quoted this guy?” Clarke whispers into the silence of their corner of the library, sliding a heavy leather-bound book across the table and pointing to a paragraph on one of the worn open pages. “Because this is one of the chapters that was recommended in class but I think it’s full of bullshit.”

And then Clarke is off on a hushed rant, complaining about the author’s blatant sexism and disregard for consent when using love potions and if Lexa is completely honest, she stops listening to exactly what Clarke is saying after the first thirty seconds or so, because she is so enraptured with Clarke’s facial expressions and the way that she gesticulates wildly with her hands when she gets angry. And as Clarke talks, Lexa just thinks to herself _yes, this is it, this is the girl I want to fall in love with_ , because not only is Clarke mind-bogglingly beautiful, but she’s also ridiculously intelligent, and articulate, and exactly what Lexa would look for in a girl…

“So what do you think?”

Lexa is drawn out of her daydream to find Clarke looking at her expectantly, and she tries to collect herself enough to form a coherent answer.

“I think you’ve got your essay sorted,” Lexa tells Clarke honestly. “It sounds like you could write way more than three pages.”

Clarke blushes and then, with a shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips, says, “I probably could, to be honest.”

“Why weren’t you sorted into Ravenclaw?” Lexa asks, picking up her own quill once more and trying to remember what her train of thought had been before Clarke started talking.

“Because I’m lazy,” Clarke answers shamelessly. She adds with a shrug, “Both of my parents were in Ravenclaw and I probably should have been too, but the Sorting Hat thought otherwise. I think my mum was a bit disappointed when I got put in Slytherin, but it’s definitely where I belong.” She smirks mischievously across at Lexa and says, “I can be a manipulative little shit when I want to be. _That’s_ why I wasn’t sorted into Ravenclaw.”

Lexa laughs softly, flipping a page of the book laid out across the table in front of her.

“Shame,” she replies. “You’d have been an asset to us.”

“Why?”

Lexa looks up to find Clarke looking at her in full earnest and scrambles for an answer which is honest, but not the whole truth.

“You’re not bad at Quidditch, I guess,” she shrugs.

Clarke raises her eyebrows as she considers Lexa answer for a moment, then shakes her head as she looks back down to her half-written essay.

“ _Not bad_ ,” she snorts. “Let me remind you, Woods, that I’ve been on my house team for a year longer than you’ve been on yours.”

“Let me remind you, _Griffin_ ,” Lexa quips back, “that you’ve probably been riding a broom for ten years longer than I have.”

Clarke lifts her head slowly, her face deadpan, then says, “Shut up and write your damn essay.”

* * *

“So if I’m only _not bad_ at Quidditch, should I shoot against you first to get some more practice?”

Lexa glances over her shoulder as Clarke follows her down the tunnel from the changing rooms to the Quidditch pitch, to find the blonde smirking at her once again, broomstick in one hand and the bright red Quaffle tucked under the other arm.

“I mean, if you really think that a bit of practice can compete with my natural talent…”

Clarke pokes Lexa harshly in the back with the handle of her broomstick and Lexa lets out a little yelp in response as the hard wood digs into her spine.

“You know, Woods, I actually really like you but I also really hate you, do you get what I mean?”

Lexa’s heart does a little flip when Clarke says the words _really like_ , but decides to play along anyway.

“You know, I actually don’t.”

“You’re too smart,” Clarke says, falling into step beside Lexa as the tunnel opens out into the huge stadium, gloomy grey November clouds high up above them.

Lexa looks across at Clarke and points to the crest on the front of her own blue Quidditch robes, saying smugly, “Ravenclaw”

“Smart _ass_ ,” Clarke corrects herself with a shake of her head. She swings one leg over her broomstick and pushes off to hover a few feet off the ground. “You know, I’m going to really enjoy kicking your butt in the match next weekend.”

Lexa follows suits and soars into the air with a powerful kick off the muddy pitch.

“Why don’t you put that Quaffle where your mouth is, Griffin?”

* * *

They train together for over an hour and a half, taking turns at making shots whilst the other guards the hoops until it just descends into a one versus one game of Quidditch, dodging and racing each other from one end of the pitch to the other to throw the ball through the huge golden hoops. By the time they decide to head back inside, Lexa is pink-faced, happy, and possibly more in love with Clarke Griffin than she ever thought were possible.

“You’ve surprised me, you know,” says Clarke, as the pair of them drift back down to solid ground.

“Really?” Lexa’s eyes widen. “How so?”

Clarke shrugs and lands her broom elegantly on the soft turf, Lexa landing beside her shortly afterwards.

“I don’t know. You’re not at all how I imagined you to be. Raven’s always saying how quiet you are and so I just assumed you’d be … I don’t know, that you’d be really _boring_. But you’re not.”

Lexa flusters slightly at the compliment, then asks, “You and Raven talk about me?”

Clarke looks away quickly, and Lexa realises with a little air of satisfaction that she’s caught Clarke offguard.

“Well, I mean we talk about all our roommates. Mine and hers. We don’t just talk about you.”

“Sure thing, Griffin,” Lexa teases with a laugh, and she is pleased to see that Clarke’s cheeks are redder than they were a second ago, too red to be just the result of an hour and a half out in the cold.

“Shut up.”

“Woods!”

Lexa’s head snaps up at the stern voice calling out her name, snapping her out of her afternoon of bliss, and her insides lurch uncomfortable as she notices Anya standing in the entrance to the tunnel that leads back towards the changing room. She’s an intimidating figure, taller than both Lexa and Clarke, her broomstick propped up by her left hand and her right hand on her hip, not to mention the way that she scowls at Lexa to make her feel only inches tall.

“What the hell are you doing?” growls Anya, when Lexa gets closer to her. “Training with _her_?” Anya tilts the tip of her broomstick handle to point accusatorily at Clarke. “She’s the enemy.”

“She’s been teaching me all your tactics,” Clarke answers before Lexa can open her mouth to speak, “so that I know how to beat you next weekend.”

“I didn’t ask _you_ , Griffin,” Anya snaps icily.

Clarke holds a gloved hand up defensively and takes a few steps to walk around Anya and into the tunnel.

“I’ll leave you both to it,” says Clarke. She looks at Lexa one final time and says, “I’ll see you later, Lexa.”

As Clarke disappears towards the changing rooms, Lexa’s heart barely has time to do a somersault in her chest at the fact that Clarke has used her first name for the first time ever before Anya is bearing down on her again. And she picks up on it too.

“Since when were you two on a first name basis?” scowls Anya.

“We’re not!” Lexa protests. “She’s doing it to wind you up and it’s working.”

Anya lets out an indignant huff.

“I don’t like this, Lex,” says Anya. “Not with only a week to go before we play them again.”

“Raven trains with her and Octavia Blake all the time!” Lexa argues, raising her chin so that the height difference between them is not so pronounced. “How is this any different? We were both bored and had nothing better to do and it seemed like fun.”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt, Lexa,” Anya says with a sigh.

Lexa know that this has gone beyond Quidditch now, because this is _Anya_ that she is talking to. The same Anya who was Lexa’s first kiss when she joined the Ravenclaw team in her fourth year, the same Anya who helped Lexa through her messy breakup with Costia a year ago, the same Anya who is the only person besides Lexa who knows the truth about how completely infatuated Lexa has been with Clarke since day one.

“She’s not going to hurt me,” Lexa assures Anya. “I can look after myself.”

Anya frowns, clearly still unhappy with the situation, but she swallows, nods, and then says, “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow, Woods.”

“Yes, captain.”

* * *

When she enters the changing room two minutes later, it is to find that Clarke is already midway through undressing, her green Quidditch robes puddled in a messy heap on the floor and her trousers caught around one ankle as she tries to step out of them. But Lexa ignores all of this and drops her broom onto one of the benches with a clatter as she strides across the room, cupping one of Clarke’s cheeks with her hand and lifting the other girl’s face up towards her own.

“Woods, what are you … _oh_!”

Lexa presses her lips to Clarke’s, letting her eyes flutter closed in the process, and she feels Clarke startle slightly under her fingertips, before she relaxes and claws her fingertips into the soft material of Lexa’s blue robes.

“Sorry,” Lexa mumbles, pulling away slightly. She tries to ignore the way that her heart hammers against her ribcage far faster than it ever has done before, and the way that Clarke’s lips are parted and her pupils wide and dark.

“What was that about?” Clarke asks breathlessly.

“I don’t know,” Lexa answers honestly, her lips still feeling as though they are tingling from the recent contact with Clarke’s. “Anya was saying stuff and I … I don’t kn-”

This time it is Clarke who cuts Lexa off, one of her hands curling into Lexa’s waist and the other tangling into the soft baby hairs at the base of Lexa’s neck to pull her in closer. The initial surprise of the kiss over, Lexa pushes back with her lips, coaxing Clarke’s open and in turn drawing a moan out from the blonde.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” says Lexa, pulling away for long enough to rest her forehead against Clarke’s and mumble the words against kiss-swollen lips.

Clarke smirks.

“Oh, I think I do.”

And then she pushes Lexa back against the wall of the changing room, kissing her with more enthusiasm than Lexa thinks she’s ever been kissed before.

* * *

The Ravenclaw versus Slytherin match picks up exactly where it left off before the bludger hit Lexa’s head two weeks earlier, with Slytherin twenty points ahead and each team with four penalties to take as the result of the brawl. The crowd goes crazy as the two teams walk out onto the pitch, a sea of green at one end of the stadium and the familiar blue and bronze scarves and flags billowing in the wind at the other, and as the players line up in two near rows, Anya and Ontari stepping forward to shakes each other’s hand, Lexa looks up at Clarke to find blue eyes already fixated on her with a hardened stare.

“You’re going down, Woods,” Clarke mouths the words across at Lexa, her glare unrelenting and intimidating. Or at least it would be intimidating, if Lexa hadn’t spent the best part of the last week staring into those same blue orbs in between drawn out rounds of burning kisses.

“In your dreams, Griffin,” Lexa mouths back.

Clarke’s face softens slightly, then a slow smirk spreads across her face as she raises a suggestive eyebrow, and Lexa has no time to interpret the gesture fully because the referee chooses that exact moment to blow the whistle and Clarke has pushed off from the ground out of Lexa’s sight in the blink of an eye.

Lexa scores Ravenclaw’s first penalty, feinting left to trick the Keeper and then tossing it through the hoop on the far right. Her teammates bundle her into a midair hug, a messy tangle of limbs and broomsticks handles, but there’s barely any time to celebrate because Slytherin retaliate by scoring their own penalty too.

Clarke lines up for Slytherin’s third shot, right after Anya makes it three in a row for Ravenclaw, and Lexa makes sure to hover just within Clarke’s eyesight, a deliberate distraction. When the Ravenclaw Keeper just manages to deflect the Quaffle off the tips of his fingers, she doesn’t know whether to be happy that her team have the advantage or sympathetic towards Clarke, who swears loudly and flies off.

She manages to persuade Anya to let her take Ravenclaw’s final penalty and she sends it soaring through the right hoop again with ease, just to rub it in.

* * *

They win, _barely_ , after a toughly contended match that lasts almost three hours and sees almost as much violence as the game two weeks ago, though luckily only the Slytherin Seeker ends up paying a trip to the infirmary with a broken nose. The team celebrates with a huge group huddle, then two laps of victory around the perimeter of the huge pitch, waving and cheering along with the Ravenclaws in the crowd as they go.

Clarke looks pissed, understandably so, as the match had been a closely fought one throughout and could honestly have gone either way, but when Lexa meets her gaze, she smiles through her disappointment and gives Lexa a nod of congratulations.

* * *

The celebration party goes on well into the night, food and dancing and loud music that reverberates off the stone walls of Ravenclaw tower. Lexa misses all but the first half an hour. Her own private celebration takes place in a deserted classroom on the fourth floor, a muffling charm placed on the locked door to hide the gasps and moans of the two girls with hungry lips and wandering hands, rivals in Quidditch, yet anything but when off the pitch.


End file.
